Out of the Shelter
by Dogstar101
Summary: An inconvenient request from Neville and Luna draws Harry away from preparations for a journey. On returning, he inadvertently triggers a family row. Set over two days, immediately before Bill and Fleur's wedding. This story is complete, no more updates.
1. Chapter 1

**Out of the Shelter**

by Dogstar

**Chapter One: The Shelter**

At the sound of falling coals, Harry looked up from the bit of parchment spread on the table. "Ron? I think maybe there's someone wants you over here."

Ron was sprawled on the floor, idly leafing through a dog-eared copy of 'Numerology and Gramatica', and scarcely glanced towards the fire. "Can't be. No one's expected yet."

Harry shrugged. "How come I can see Luna Lovegood then?"

Ron swore, leapt up and ran over to the fire. "Mum'll go spare if she finds out people are dropping in uninvited ... how'd she find us – and what the hell does she want anyway?" He dropped to his knees. "Er – hi there Luna. Can I help you?"

"Hallo Ronald," said Luna vaguely, twiddling with a strand of hair that had escaped from the untidy pile secured to the top of her head by her wand. "How's Ginny? I heard she was recruited for a secret mission to check out claims of a rain of moon frogs on Alderley Edge…" Ron flushed darkly.

"Rubbish," he said in a low voice. She's just gone away for a few days to visit … er … our Great Auntie Muriel. She'll be back at the weekend."

"Ah …" Luna raised one pale eyebrow. "Harry's staying with you at the moment isn't he? Does Ginny need counselling do you think? I know a very good aura cleanser in Bristol. I could send her an owl."

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and studied his parchment intently. Saying goodbye to Ginny again so soon had been a lot more difficult than he'd expected – leaving aside his concern about what she was now attempting. It could easily backfire and end up causing Ginny more heartache – and put them all into even more danger. In their last conversation, she'd tried to explain it to him: "I have to do this Harry," she'd said. "I can't just hang around here for a whole week avoiding you and driving Mum mad – this way I get to be useful. If I can just get him to come to the wedding, we'll all be together – how it should be."

Ron and the twins (down from London for the week) had stomped and raged and attempted to intimidate Ginny out of her 'harebrained plan', without success. Finally, with Mrs Weasley's vocal and Mr Weasley's reluctant support, she'd departed for London by Floo powder. A short while afterwards, a handsome screech owl had turned up with a message saying: 'Arrived safely, discounting death by pompous rant. G'. She hadn't come straight back, so presumably had been right when she'd claimed to be the only member of the family that Percy would consider hearing out. Hermes had greeted Errol, Pig and Hedwig with less than his former dignity and hadn't seemed to want to leave the following morning.

Harry, Ron and Hermione had arrived at The Burrow from the Dursleys' the day after Harry's birthday. He and Ron had spent the next three days practising for their Apparition tests. Hermione coached them, with occasional tips from Fred and George – when they could escape from being roped into wedding preparations. Both Harry and Ron had passed, although Harry had felt like he could have done with a puff of Dudley's old asthma inhaler by the end of it.

Once that was over, he'd settled down to studying advanced defensive counter-spells from Bill's old seventh year Defence book, and others that Hermione had found in various obscure texts. On Sunday, three days from now, Harry, Ron and Hermione would leave The Burrow to start looking for the rest of the Horcruxes. In his current frame of mind, Harry was not much more help at fact-finding than he was at cake-decorating, which meant that the intricate planning fell largely to Hermione. Ron was helping her with the calculations for their route, having picked up the basics of Arithmancy surprisingly quickly. Their first brief stop would be number twelve, Grimmauld Place and Harry hadn't really thought any further ahead than that. He had to be doing something though, if only to take his mind off the Ginny-shaped absence at The Burrow. He didn't want to think about having to part from her again, only twenty-four hours after Bill and Fleur's wedding, which was being held the day after tomorrow.

"Look – it's nothing personal ..." Ron's voice filtered through. Harry shook his head to free himself from this unproductive line of thought and tuned back into the conversation taking place at floor level. It sounded as though Ron was keeping his impatience on a tight rein. "It's not a great time. We're kind of busy here. Who is it you're after?"

"Oh, didn't I say? Harry, of course. I have Neville here but he's a bit embarrassed, so I said I'd make the initial contact."

Harry dropped his piece of parchment in surprise. Looking bemused, Ron made room for Harry on the hearth rug. "Um, hello – what can I do for … er … Neville?" Harry said nervously. Neville's head appeared in the green flames, slightly squashed behind Luna's.

"Hi, Harry! Hi, Ron! Yeah … um … the thing is Harry … I know you're probably really busy and everything but Luna asked me … and, er … I wasn't sure ... and you've had experience of this sort of thing, so I thought, um …" Neville ground to a halt.

"Come on mate," said Ron. "Get to the point." Neville looked stricken. Harry couldn't imagine what Neville was driving at and sincerely hoped it had nothing to do with advice about girls, especially if it concerned Luna, whose head was still bobbing around. Before he could answer, Luna turned and whispered something inaudible in Neville's ear. Neville's head withdrew from sight with an expression of distinct relief.

"Spit it out, Loony."

Harry felt a wave of embarrassment and a strong desire to yell at Ron, Hermione-fashion. "Don't CALL her that!" he hissed as quietly as he could. Luna smiled blandly.

"OK Harry, here's the thing. I bumped into Neville this morning at St. Mungo's, in the Spell Damage corridor. I was with my father interviewing Hilda Brisket … she's another suspected Wrackspurt victim … that makes ten so far this week – someone's obviously found a way to deploy them as weapons …" Luna trailed off, looking dreamy again.

"Luna? That's really interesting – but Ron's right, we do have a lot to do, so if you could, er –"

"Cut to the chase?" Ron supplied. Luna took her time blinking, her forehead wrinkling in a gentle frown.

"Where was I? Oh yes. Neville kindly introduced me to his family. Alice and Frank are delightful, don't you agree?"

As both Harry and Ron appeared to be struck dumb at this, Luna continued. "Obviously, when they told me of their sad plight, it immediately struck me as being of immense importance to our readers," she said matter-of-factly.

"Wait a minute – how do you mean – THEY told you?"

"A figure of speech, Harry," said Luna, in a crisper voice than she normally used. "It's considered polite to talk to the patient when making a hospital visit." Did Luna say that? Harry wondered – chastened and a little amused – or had Hermione come back into the room while he wasn't looking? "Of course, Neville filled in some background details but it wasn't that difficult to understand Alice's non-verbal communication." Luna paused.

Harry was astounded. Next to him, Ron was looking bewildered. Luna swiftly resumed her explanation. "Neville was initially very reluctant to agree to an interview, in fact he adamantly refused." _Go Neville_, thought Harry. He wasn't at all convinced – at least not yet – about this new, supercharged version of Luna Lovegood.

"So … of course, I pointed out that greater knowledge of this terrible incident, and specifically its impact on the personal lives of Alice and Frank's family, would undoubtedly be of benefit to the wider wizarding world – as both a warning and to reinforce popular support against the Death Eaters."

Harry voiced his fears. "This had better not be some kind of Rita Skeeter number."

"No, obviously," Luna said equably. "In any case, _The Quibbler_ doesn't tend to cover the human interest angle. My father leaves that up to _Witch Weekly_. But of course, this item is not right for that publication either."

"In that case – you can't mean – NOT _The Daily Prophet_?" Harry asked incredulously.

"No, no, no. It has to be in Neville's control – that's fundamental. Exclusive rights, no possible re-editing or journalistic agenda. We felt a different medium – a broadcast interview – would be… more appropriate. All questions to be approved in advance, in the form of a conversation between the three of us. That is – Neville, myself and – well – you. If you're willing and … er … available."

For the first time since popping up in the fire, Luna sounded dubious. However, her voice quickly picked up in confidence again. "It'll be broadcast exactly as recorded on the WWN on Sunday evening. We have a room in the Leaky Cauldron set up as a makeshift studio and we're ready to go this afternoon, if you can join us that is?" Luna completed her pitch and gazed up at Harry, eyebrows slightly raised but otherwise giving no sign of anticipation or anxiety about Harry's verdict.

"Um … well … of course I'd like to help Neville but … he's really better friends with Hermione … and she's, y' know … good at all this media stuff."

Harry really didn't fancy the prospect of a staged conversation with a tongue-tied Neville, let alone one that would be broadcast to the entire wizarding population of the British Isles. A conversation that would be still more uncomfortable, given the inside information Harry possessed about the circumstances of Neville's birth. Harry had no idea whether Neville knew that it was only by mere fluke that he wasn't walking around being hailed as the 'Chosen One', instead of Harry.

"Neville seems to think he'll find it easier …. he did say something about Hermione … um … _taking over_?" Luna gave a small sniff. Next to Harry, Ron looked somewhat affronted. Harry had a feeling that Luna might be interpreting Neville's views rather broadly. To Harry's knowledge, Neville had never criticised anyone, not even under extreme provocation from Malfoy – or Snape.

Snape. Harry stiffened. The reality of the threat they were living under – every moment of every day, now without even Dumbledore to protect them – snapped into clarity. It wasn't about petty, personal squeamishness any more. They were at war. Harry remembered Neville's words last year … _people should know_. If even Neville could overcome his timidity and come out into the spotlight, how could Harry refuse?

"And, to be honest Harry, you being present will make sure the broadcast reaches the widest possible audience." Harry barely heard Luna's concluding remark. He'd rather face Voldemort that very afternoon than do another damned interview. But … if it alerted people to the dangers of Death Eaters … walking around on the loose … as ready to torture and maim pure-blood wizards as Muggles …

"Fine, I'll do it. Good thing it's today though, or there'd have been no chance. See you both in minute." Harry stood up. Luna beamed and sank down through the flames out of sight.

"What about you Ron? Will you and Hermione be OK if I nip out for a few hours?"

"Of course we will, you berk, but can you imagine what Mum'd say if she knew you were going up to London _on your own_?" Ron grinned. "I'd come as well, except I'd better hang around and create a distraction – make sure you're not missed." Ron paused, considering. "Besides, Hermione'll skin us alive if we go off without her. Here, don't forget your cloak."

Ron handed Harry's Invisibility Cloak to him from where it lay in a shimmering heap next to Hermione's pile of books. "Get going. We'll cover for you. Hermione'll be back in a minute so you'd better shove off. I can't answer for her being too keen that you're going out either."

"Cheers, Ron." Harry stuffed the cloak into the inside pocket of his jacket and took a handful of silvery powder from the pot on the mantelpiece. He dropped it and climbed into the hearth, as the flames shot up with renewed vigour. "The Leaky Cauldron!" he shouted, and waited for the sudden swoop that he always found unpleasant, but preferable to relying on his still-uncertain Apparition skills. When the sickening swirl stopped, Harry opened his eyes, which took a few moments to adjust to the dim light. He saw Neville's round face first, blinking owlishly in the gloom of an unfamiliar room. Harry stepped out of the fire.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two – Out of the Bag**

As the smoke cleared, Harry recognised the room after all. It had been almost four years since he'd had a conversation in this small parlour with Cornelius Fudge, then Minister for Magic. On that occasion, Harry had expected to be expelled from Hogwarts for accidentally using magic to blow up Aunt Marge. Today, all the furniture had been pushed to the edges of the room, save for four tables arranged in a square in the centre. A large microphone hung down in the middle, suspended from the ceiling. On one of the tables lay an unsteady pile of ancient-looking equipment. The other three tables held sets of bakelite headphones: a faint glow emanating from the earpieces. These were connected to the other equipment by long strings, which reminded Harry powerfully of Fred and George's Extendable Ears.

The interview went surprisingly smoothly. Luna proved to be adept at encouraging Neville to talk about his family and childhood without the need for inquisitive questions. Her normal air of disconcerting candour seemed softened into a neutral directness that banished both Harry's and Neville's self-consciousness. Harry found himself explaining his own connection to the Longbottoms without difficulty, even though it touched closely on painful memories of Sirius's final unhappy months at Grimmauld Place. He described the photograph he'd seen, in which both Alice and Frank appeared, smiling and happy, alongside his own parents. Harry also mentioned having seen them in St. Mungo's the Christmas before last. He was grateful that Luna did not ask him to describe the change that time had wrought in their condition.

Towards the end of the agreed half-hour, Luna asked them about school. "Of course, you both started at the same time, and were sorted into Gryffindor together…" "Yes!" Neville confirmed eagerly. "Harry's always been brilliant at everything – flying, obviously – and Defence Against the Dark Arts ... he taught us loads one year when …" Neville trailed off as Harry kicked him sharply under the table.

"Rubbish," said Harry in a firm voice. "I'm not good at most things – not compared to some people. Besides, Neville's excellent at Defence too. His shield charms are rock solid. And he's a genius at Herbology."

"But you were the only one in our class who managed to throw off the Imperius Curse – " This time Neville's voice ended on a squeaky note as Harry dug him in the ribs with his wand.

"The Imperius Curse …?" Luna's eyes bulged. "When did that happen?"

Harry was thrown by this departure from the prepared script. He weighed his options frantically. Would any Death Eaters listening to this broadcast learn anything important from the answer to that question? _Bit late to worry about that now_, he thought wryly. _Thanks Neville_. Harry tried to think what Sirius would have advised him to do. Unaccountably, it was Snape's voice that came into his mind. _The Dark Arts are many, varied, ever-changing and eternal ... your defences, must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo … _Harry made up his mind.

He spoke slowly and clearly. "It was our fourth year. We had an impostor as our Defence teacher. Polyjuiced. A fake Alastor Moody, you know the famous Dark Wizard catcher. It wasn't his fault, it was two against one. They used the Imperius Curse on him. One of them was Peter Pettigrew. The one who betrayed my parents and killed all those people – then pinned it on Sirius Black. The fake Moody was a wizard called Crouch – Barty Crouch – Junior, that is. He's a Death Eater too – well, he was until that idiot Fudge set the Dementors on him before he could stand trial again . Crouch did the Cruciatus Curse in class too, on a spider. In front of all of us, including Neville."

"And – and th-the killing curse …" Neville added.

"That's right." Harry thought he'd probably said enough and inwardly thanked his lucky stars that he'd be moving around a lot during the next few months. He didn't like to think about Moody's reaction to hearing him spill the beans.

"Wait – Barty Crouch Junior – wasn't he one of the people who…"

"Yes." Neville voice was low but controlled. "He tortured my Mum and Dad."

"You've been victims of the Cruciatus curse yourselves I believe?" Luna stated the question in a bland and unemotional tone.

"From Voldemort." Harry used the name deliberately. Luna didn't flinch.

"Bellatrix Lestrange." When he spoke this name, Neville's voice was strangled. Harry looked at him, expecting to see terror. However, the emotion choking Neville was not fear. His eyes were dark with rage, his mouth set in a grim line.

"Right. That should do it." Luna plucked the Extendable Ear strings from the headphones and stood up. "Thanks Neville. And you Harry – that was wonderful. Pure dynamite as my Dad would say."

Harry and Neville stood up slowly, a little dazed, gazing at each other as though meeting for the first time. "Wh-what now?" Harry asked.

"Well, I've got to head off in a bit," Luna replied. "There's a lot to do to get this ready for broadcast – and I'm not very experienced at audio transfiguration. But why don't you two get yourselves a drink? You look like you could do with one."

"Yeah, sounds good," Neville sighed, stretching and rubbing his rib cage with a pained expression. Harry remembered that it wasn't that long since Neville had recovered from the injury he'd sustained during during the Death Eaters' attack on Hogwarts and felt extremely guilty.

"Um. I didn't bring any money…sorry for poking you by the way."

"That's OK, Harry. Let me buy the drinks. It's the least I can do." Neville led the way down the corridor to the main pub. It was as empty as Harry had seen it on the trip to Diagon Alley last August.

Luna stood chatting to them for a few more minutes. Before saying goodbye and going back to her recording equipment, she warned them solemnly to be on their guard. "Against what, Luna?" asked Neville, politely.

"Well - one theory is that the rise in cases in London might simply be due to a recent migration of Wrackspurt to urban areas. It's well-known that they prefer damp, dark conditions and wine cellars provide an ideal atmosphere. I wouldn't like anything to happen to either of you, at least not before the interview comes out!"

"Oh, I dunno. It might be good for publicity." Harry had no intention of listening to the broadcast if he could avoid it. Luna beamed, still clearly delighted with her joke. Harry caught Neville's eye for a second, then quickly looked away. Neville said in an admirably sober tone,

"Don't worry, Luna. Wrackspurt won't know what hit them if they try anything on with us two."

Neville's Butterbeer and Harry's mead arrived and they found a small table tucked away behind a pillar where they had a good view of the main door. "Is it safe here? Should you put on that cloak thingy of yours?" Neville asked.

"Nowhere's safe really – not for any of us. I'll put it on if someone comes in."

Harry felt a little awkward. It felt weird to be here, just him and Neville without anyone else from school. Neville seemed to guess what was on his mind. "Why don't you ask Ron and Hermione to join us?" he said timidly. "It'd be nice to catch up." Harry suspected that Neville was finding it hard to make conversation too.

"Um ... yeah … s'pose I could."

"You can use the fire like we did earlier. There's loads of Floo powder left."

"Be right back."

Harry made his way back up the corridor to the small parlour. Luna was tangled up in several yards of the flesh-coloured string and barely glanced over when Harry came in. Harry approached the fireplace, knelt down, and dropped a handful of powder onto the logs. _Ugh. Here goes._ "The Burrow!" he yelled and stuck his head into the flames. When the spinning stopped, he opened his eyes, expecting to see the familiar sight of Ron sprawled on the carpet, Hermione seated at the table, in all likelihood engaged in a full-scale bicker.

Harry choked back the greeting that had sprung automatically to his lips. Ron was sitting cross-legged against the far wall, facing the fireplace. Hermione was crouched forward on her knees, with her back to Harry. Both were engrossed in a game of chess laid out between them, their heads almost touching. Hermione reached out a hand towards one of her pieces and made as if to nudge it forwards. The piece, a knight, turned round, presumably to argue. However, before Hermione could finish the move, Ron's hand closed over hers, trapping it beneath his. Without speaking a word, Ron lifted his eyes. At the same moment, Hermione's head jerked upwards.

There was no danger of Ron noticing Harry's presence in the fireplace. The exceptionally hot muffler around Harry's head suddenly felt a lot more constricting. He wondered if that was how he looked at Ginny. If so, it was a wonder her hair didn't catch fire. Embarrassed at intruding on this moment of intimacy between his two friends, Harry dragged his head back out of the fire so quickly that the revolving sensation made him queasy for a moment. He went back to the bar and sat down, shaking his head in answer to Neville's unspoken question. "They can't make it," he said abruptly.

"Oh. Why not?" Neville looked surprised. Harry pondered what to say. Finally, he told Neville what he'd seen. When Harry had finished, Neville looked mildly sympathetic but merely said placidly, "Well, you must have seen it coming. Everyone else in the common room thinks they're already together. Ever since Lavender dumped Ron because they were up in our dormitory."

Harry pondered again. Neville didn't know that Harry had been up there too, covered in the cloak. But he supposed it was possible – something could have happened ages ago – he'd been a bit preoccupied lately, to say the least. Wouldn't Ron have said something? _Unless he was worried you'd be a prat about it_. He felt a flare of annoyance at the thought of Ron and Hermione discussing his possible reaction. Harry dismissed the thought, realising he was jumping to conclusions. Still, it looked like something was definitely happening now … it would take some getting used to … _Too used to being centre of attention, that's my problem… _Harry thought ruefully, then – _oh please … don't tell me Snape was right about that 'n all…_

… _Brrr, enough, _thought Harry, shaking his head. "I'm afraid it's your round again, Neville. I can't go back through that fire for a while yet. What plans have you got for next year?"

"What – you mean apart from rounding up Lestrange and her cronies single-handedly, chucking them in Azkaban and getting the Order of Merlin First Class?"

Harry looked blank for a second as Neville's round face spread into a daring grin. Harry chuckled appreciatively. Maybe this evening wasn't going to be so bad after all. "Hey, Neville … did Ron ever tell you the one about the Hag, the Healer …"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three - Back to Bed, Back to Reality**

Several hours later Harry staggered out of the fireplace at The Burrow. He and Neville had only broken up the party when Lupin and Tonks had arrived, obviously on orders to retrieve them. Harry had hidden under the cloak, shaking with laughter, while Neville tried to pretend that he was meeting his girlfriend. The cloak hadn't fooled Tonks for a second. She'd whipped it off Harry's head and joked that she was glad she didn't have to mend a broken nose this time, seeing as she was a bit tired: "… and Bill says bugger off back home, unless you want him to wake Molly."

Fortunately, the living room was dark and deserted. Harry kicked his trainers off, trampling on the laces and nearly crashing to the floor when he caught his foot in the hem of the Invisibility Cloak, which kept slipping from his grasp. With some difficulty, he threw the loose bundle in the general direction of the table. He crept up five flights of stairs to Ron's attic room, which he was sharing in advance of the wedding hordes. He passed Ginny's open door on the way and closed it gently, knowing that Hermione hated being woken by even a chink of light.

As he mounted the final flight of stairs, Harry was starting to feel slightly sick and incredibly tired. He opened Ron's door quietly and was greeted by the final shock of the evening. Facing away from the door, Ron and Hermione were lying on Ron's bed; fully clothed but sound asleep. Ron's long frame was curved into Hermione's, his face almost hidden in a mass of bushy brown hair. The orange curtains were wide open and Hermione had pulled a corner of the duvet up over her eyes.

Harry softly closed the door again. He crept back down to the third landing and went into Ginny's empty room. He collapsed onto her bed like a sailor reaching dry land after a very long voyage. He turned his face into Ginny's pillow, searching for a hint of her achingly familiar flowery scent. He slept.

Harry awoke with sunlight streaming directly into his eyes. He blinked frantically, groping for his glasses, which had torn themselves off his face at some point during the night. Mrs Weasley came into focus, hands on hips, looking down at him with an unreadable expression on her face. Before he could start stuttering apologies and excuses, she turned on her heel. He heard her deliberate tread going up the attic stairs and sank back into the mattress, covering his face with his hands. His mouth felt like the bottom of Hedwig's cage.

Ten minutes later, clean teeth and clothes had wrought a wonderful improvement in Harry's spirits. He slipped into the kitchen and beckoned the jug of pumpkin juice sitting on the dresser with his wand. He sat down at the table with Mr Weasley, Bill, Fleur and the twins. Hermione was standing over by the cooker, her hand on Mrs Weasley's arm, talking earnestly in a low voice. Harry silently wished her luck but thought her only chance of talking her way out of Mrs Weasley's bad books would be with a dose of Felix Felicis. Fred winked at him and George waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Sneaking off…"

"Out 'til all hours…"

"Naughty, naughty…"

"Ah, shut it you two." Harry helped himself to porridge.

"Fine. We'll get to you later …"

"But only 'cause we want to watch the floor show …"

Ron slunk through the kitchen door. He saw Hermione talking to his mother and nearly turned tail again. "Ron – get over there and make your peace with your mother – now." Mr Weasley rattled his copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and disappeared behind it again. Harry and Ron exchanged looks. To Harry's surprise, Ron looked more cheerful than Harry had seen him since the funeral. "Why didn't you wake us, you idiot?" he said in a resigned voice. "Fell asleep waiting up for you …" Harry's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish.

"Didn't think of it. Sorry. Bit, you know …"

"Smashed," said Fred and George in unison. Harry looked at them with narrowed eyes.

"Don't you two have a shop to run?"

"Can't get rid of us that easily, Oh Hungover One. We're helping Mum ..."

"Yeah – you're stuck with us until tomorrow, mate." Fred helped himself to more bacon.

"Oh, well – better get this over with I suppose." Ron shuffled off to join Hermione and his mother. Mrs Weasley pointed at the back door with her wand. It flew open. Mrs Weasley pointed again and followed Ron and Hermione out into the garden. The door slammed shut of its own accord. Immediately, Fred and George pointed their wands at the sash window, which shot up several inches with a loud groan.

Fragments of Mrs Weasley's lamentation drifted into the kitchen. "Bed-hopping!" followed a few moments later by, "…under my roof …only children …"

At this, it seemed Ron made an attempt to fight back. Mutters of: "_Seventeen_ … weren't doing anything wrong …" filtered through.

Then Hermione's higher voice penetrated the walls. "Don't blame Ron … all my fault … missing home …" Bill whistled through his teeth.

"Oh no, Hermione," said Fred.

"You do _not_ want to go in that direction," said George. Fleur and Harry looked startled and Mr Weasley lowered the _Prophet_ warily. Sure enough, Mrs Weasley's voice was heard again, rapidly rising in outrage: "… brazen attitude … as though I don't have enough to worry about…" and then, distinctly, "… my dear girl, people may do things differently at _home_ but _this_ is a respectable house!"

Ron burst through the back door, dragging Hermione by the arm. "Let go Ron! It's not worth it!" she squeaked. Hermione's face was bright scarlet, as were Ron's ears.

"Too right it's not," snarled Ron, dropping Hermione's arm and flinging himself into a chair. "That was well out of order. How d-dare sh-she blame …" Ron spluttered to a halt, his voice strangled. Six heads turned as one as Mrs Weasley came back into the kitchen and closed the back door. All the fight seemed to have gone out of her.

"Molly – apologise to the children, please," Mr Weasley said gently. Mrs Weasley took a breath but no words came out.

"It's fine, Mr Weasley." Hermione's colour had returned to normal and her voice was formal, even forbidding. "I'm in your house after all. Mrs Weasley, I'm very sorry if I've offended you in any way. I can go ..."

"Mais non! What is zis foolishness? Ze wedding – eet is tomorrow! Bill, say somezing!" Fleur's perfect eyebrows had almost disappeared into her hairline. Mr Weasley spoke again, even more gently than before.

"You're not going anywhere Hermione, my dear. Molly, come on now…" Mrs Weasley dabbed her eyes with a tea towel and timidly met Ron's angry glare.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione, and you too, Ron ... what a terrible thing to say …"

"Yeah it was," Ron grunted. Hermione nudged him. "Fine. I'm sorry too. I promise not to go within ten feet of _any_ girl until I'm at least thirty-five. Happy?"

Harry nearly choked on his pumpkin juice; not sure if he were more impressed by Ron's mention of girls in front of Fred and George, or his use of the word 'any' with Hermione sitting right next to him – wand clearly visible sticking out of the pocket of her cardigan.

"Water under the bridge then …" Mr Weasley folded the _Prophet_ and hurried out of the room. Mrs Weasley's eyes scanned the table for victims.

"Right. Fred, George – that garden needs going over again. Bill, give me a hand drawing chairs. You three …"

"But we've got work to do!"

"Sorry Mrs Weasley, we're really busy."

"Yeah Mum. Really important, like, Dark Wizard catching stuff to do …"

Breathless with laughter, Harry, Ron and Hermione rushed from the kitchen – Ron snatching up several pieces of toast on the way – and into the living room. Ron extracted the Marauder's Map from a pile of papers and unfolded it onto the table, while Hermione sat down and opened '_New Theory of Numerology_'.

"So – what did you two find to do with yourselves last night?" Harry asked, teasingly.

"Wait 'til you hear about this Harry – it's so cool. We're trying to work out whether the Map principle will scale to the _Wizard London A-Z_ but I think it might be a bit more realistic to start with this _Ordinary Survey_ thingy that Hermione got from the village …"

"It's _Ordnance_, Ron." Hermione's hair had fallen forwards as she hunched over her book and Harry noticed that the back of her neck had gone rather pink.

"Fewer people in these remote places y'know ... less work, even with needing to set the charms to ignore the Muggles … and the sheep …". Ron's voice trailed off and Harry glanced over sharply. Ron was gazing at Hermione's neck with a strange expression.

Harry grinned and walked round the table to retrieve the Invisibility Cloak from where it had landed on the carpet next to the abandoned chess game. He reached down and picked up the black knight, examining it thoughtfully. _Have it your way, Ron_.

"Yeah, that looks brilliant – nice one you two. Want to hear what Neville and I got up to? I should tell you though – the mead in the Leaky Cauldron's well dodgy. I'm sticking to Madam Rosmerta's in future. _Much_ healthier." Ron sniggered and Hermione looked reproving. "Then again … maybe I'll just go teetotal …"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four - The Aftermath**

A little later, Harry had filled Ron and Hermione in on the events of the night before. Hermione listened wide-eyed to Harry's account of Neville's early childhood. "Oh, poor Neville – no wonder he was always so anxious about everything! Think of the pressure he must have been under, always trying to live up to his family and thinking he had no magic of his own …"

"Tell me about it. You know, it sounds stupid but it almost makes me feel lucky …"

"Lucky! With the _Dursleys_?" Hermione stared. "How could anything be worse than them? They're completely horrible – not to mention unbalanced." She shuddered, perhaps remembering the ancient cheese and plastic white bread that had been the staple diet for the duration of their stay at Privet Drive. According to Aunt Petunia, Harry's 'raggle-taggle deviant companions' ought to consider themselves lucky to have been fed at all.

"In a way – yeah. The Dursleys never expected much from me – well, anything, really. I hated them, kept out of the way – or sometimes my magic fought back. Simple. Then I escaped, found out who I really was – and it was nothing to do with them. Simple."

"Simply awful, I think you mean." Hermione shuddered again.

"Thing is though …" Harry struggled for words. "It was so obvious … Neville's relatives… however much they put him down, tell him he's useless … he still …"

"Loves them?"

"Well, yeah."

"Oh Harry, of _course_ he does!" huffed Hermione. Harry shrugged. It didn't seem that obvious to him – but he supposed Hermione knew best.

For the first time, Ron looked up from his study of the maps. "Count yourself lucky, mate. Trust me, there are worse things than being locked in a broom cupboard and starved. Like having Fred and George around when you're just learning to walk and they're 'accidentally' making the rug levitate every time you stand up."

Hermione said a little crossly, "I don't know why you're both so surprised anyway. We've known Neville for years after all. And we knew about his parents. We should have …"

"Honestly, Hermione – get a grip. _We're_ not the ones acting like it's some massive deal – besides, you think Neville would've thanked us for quizzing him about his home life?" Ron paused, looking seriously at Hermione. "School's enough of a war zone, even if you aren't having to fight _You_ – I mean – V-Voldemort every other year, like Boy Wonder here."

"Oi!" Harry gave Ron a shove.

"If you ask me, Neville knew what he was doing, keeping all that stuff to himself. Kept a low profile and got on with it – he didn't need our pity."

Hermione continued to argue. "Well, I don't agree. Neville listened to me plenty of times during those first months when everyone hated me and I felt like I'd never fit in ... and he never complained about anything … and I – I never asked him. I feel horrible."

Harry remembered his conversation with Luna at the end of fifth year. "Don't worry about it, Hermione – Ron's right."

"'Course I am."

Hermione still looked a little doubtful. Harry went on. "And you were nicer than anyone else –"

"When you weren't putting him in a full Body-Bind, that is ..."

"Oh, _Ron_!" Hermione laughed, reluctantly.

"Neville's doing all right now, isn't he? Got a new wand and everything. And a _girlfriend_." Harry smirked a little.

At this piece of gossip, Hermione's eyes went as round as saucers. "No! Who? Tell us – now!"

"Blimey, Hermione," said Harry. "You're starting to sound like Parvati and – um – well, never mind …" Ron broke into a tuneless whistle, becoming very interested in the Marauder's Map again.

"Oh, very funny," Hermione said waspishly. "You're not the only one missing Ginny you know." That shut Harry up. "Go on – who is it – is it Luna?" Hermione looked hopeful.

Harry devoutly wished he'd never introduced the subject. "Don't think so. Didn't look that way to me. Didn't like to pry." Hermione twitched impatiently. "I'm not even a hundred percent sure to be honest – it's just something I heard him say to Tonks. But he was hiding me at the time – it might not have meant anything at all. Then I had to leave anyway."

"Oh – BOYS. You're so useless." Harry could practically see Hermione's brain ticking over as she ran over the possibilities. "What about Hannah Abbott? They always seemed to get on well in Herbology –" Hermione broke off abruptly. The speculative note in her voice died away, as she said, more soberly: "Then again, she's not been around since …"

"Yes, well, let's change the subject." Ron was looking bored. "Can we get on with this map please – when you two have quite finished your girly chat?"

A little while later, Harry ducked out, on the pretext of going to look in the shed for a pocket calculator that Ron said he could remember seeing around The Burrow a few years earlier. Although reluctant to abandon her tried and tested methods – "Arithmancy _is_ my best subject, Ron …" – Hermione had eventually been persuaded to try out Ron's suggestion. "Oh go on, Hermione! It'll really speed things up with the longer place names ..."

"Ron, if you're bored, why don't you just say so …"

"I'm not _bored_. This could really work – you're just too stubborn to admit I've had a good idea …" Harry left them to it.

As Harry had hoped, he found Mr Weasley sitting at his workbench. He jumped when Harry came in. "Ouch! Oh, it's you Harry. See this? 'Soldiering iron' it's called – these little blobs … for mending things I believe… it's not working all that well mind you. Perhaps I'm doing it wrong … quite fascinating …"

"Er – it's 'soldering' not 'soldiering' actually Mr Weasley."

"Really - _soldering_ you say? How odd. A whole other language isn't it …"

"And it won't work on that cup. It's only for metal."

"Ah – that explains it. I believe I have a broken letter-opener here somewhere. I'll give it a try …" Mr Weasley dropped the teacup that was missing its handle into a bin and started shuffling through various heaps of junk on the bench.

"So – what brings you down here Harry – maths lesson finished for the day? A bit boring for you, I would have thought. I must confess – I never imagined the day I would see Ron spending the last day of his holiday with his head in a book. _Arithmancy_ must really fire his enthusiasm." To Harry's surprise, Mr Weasley gave a snort of laughter and turned round, looking over at Harry hovering politely by the door. They exchanged companionable, knowing glances. "I expect you'd rather be outdoors, wouldn't you?"

"It's OK. Everyone else is busy anyway. And without a Chaser …" Harry didn't finish the sentence. Mr Weasley looked sympathetic but only said:

"Well, you're welcome to hide out here as long as you wish. You'll be in the thick of things soon enough, I daresay, with everything you've got planned." Mr Weasley looked wistfully around his shed. "I must say, it's been wonderful having a day or two away from the office." Harry closed the door and moved further into the dim and cluttered space, stepping carefully around a precarious tower of old tires as he made his way over to the bench. "Thanks, Mr Weasley …actually …there is something …"

Mr Weasley was able to put his hand on the calculator immediately. "It's a bit temperamental, I'm afraid. It used to work, I'm sure of it – a zero would appear when you opened the little case – but since I brought it in from the house …" Harry examined it.

"It might need a new battery. Look, there's some here." He put his hand into a small basket filled with odds and ends.

"Is that what those little silver coins are? Bless my soul."

"Oh wait a minute, no – see? It runs on solar power. I just need to take it out into the light and it'll work again."

Harry tucked the calculator into the back pocket of his jeans, next to his wand, which reminded him of the real reason he'd wanted to talk to Ron's dad. "Mr Weasley? You're a politician aren't you – like Rufus Scrimgeour and Fudge and all that lot?"

"No, no Harry. Minister for Magic's the political role. I'm just a humble civil servant – as are Alastor, Kingsley and the others … different kettle of fish altogether."

"I see," said Harry, though he didn't really. He took the plunge and told Mr Weasley what had happened during the interview, including everything he'd said about Crouch Junior impersonating Professor Moody and demonstrating the Unforgivable Curses in lessons. "… and so, I think maybe I've overstepped the mark and the Ministry are going to go mad. But I don't really care about that. People _should_ know about Crouch and the real Death Eaters. No, it's Moody. I had to say how they captured him … and … and Neville had just made this great big song and dance about how I can resist the Imperius. Mad-Eye's going to think I was showing off – making him out to be weak – and I _so_ wasn't."

Mr Weasley replaced the soldering iron carefully in its holder. "Sit down, Harry." As Mr Weasley did not appear to notice that the only seating was his own high wooden stool, Harry cleared a space on the workbench and hoisted himself up.

"Harry – listen to me." Mr Weasley's voice was grave. "Alastor – as well as any of us – knows you are not capable of 'showing off' in any way, shape or form." In the half-light, Harry blushed but started to feel marginally better. Mr Weasley continued. "Harry … you cannot help what you are. The abilities you have are of a different quality to most normal wizards, even the very powerful. Dumbledore knew this. You know it. It may not be something you asked for but you accepted your part in all this some time ago I think?"

"But I still care what my friends think – "

"And you are right to do so. Alastor is not a petty man, or a resentful one. He may well have preferred _not_ to have what he sees as his greatest failure broadcast over the airwaves – but he will not blame you."

Harry thought for a minute. He believed Mr Weasley – it sounded like something Dumbledore would have said. And yet … "I'd still like to make things right," he said, stubbornly.

"Very commendable. Why don't you write to him? It would be sensible to warn the Order about the programme in any case."

Harry considered. Yes – that would work. An owl would reach Moody the same day. And then … at the wedding tomorrow…he could explain in person …"

"Thanks, Mr Weasley, that's a brilliant idea. I'll go now."

As Harry jumped down from the bench, something else occurred to him. "Mr Weasley?

"Yes Harry?"

"There won't be – you know – repercussions for you, or any of my friends will there – because of what I said? If so, I'll wish I hadn't gone at all."

"Who can say Harry? These are difficult times. Mortal peril is … mortal peril." Mr Weasley smiled. "As for Rufus and the rest of the Ministry – I think they are the least of our worries don't you?" Harry understood. He'd made his decision the night before – no point agonising over it now. He'd just have to hope it had been the right one.

Mr Weasley got down from his stool. "At this particular moment," he said, nodding significantly in the direction of the door, "I think we may be in grave danger of being late for elevenses."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 – Protection from the Elements**

Harry gave a guilty start and looked round. Mrs Weasley stood, framed in the bright sunlight streaming through the open door. She looked flushed and tired. "Molly, my dear – " said Mr Weasley. "Do you need me for something? We've just finished here."

"I should hope so – it's nearly half past twelve." Mrs Weasley sounded irritated. "Arthur – I came to see if you'd help with that canvas gazebo thingy you insisted on getting from the D-I-Whatsit shop. Bill was getting quite frustrated trying to make it work – and he's normally so even-tempered – and Fleur said she was sure the canopy her parents are bringing will be quite big enough for all the guests to sit under – and I must say, I probably agree – " Mrs Weasley paused for a second before resuming her agitated monologue.

"But then, we may still need it for Dobby and his friends – it's so awfully hot, we can't expect them to work without somewhere to rest …" Mr Weasley attempted to say something at this point, but Mrs Weasley hadn't finished yet.

"Fleur – sensible girl – sent Bill off to the pub to calm down before lunch. Fred and George went with him. They were only getting under our feet in any case, but at least they were _trying_ to help." Harry gazed fixedly at the floor of the shed.

Mr Weasley managed to speak. "My dear, of course – I'm so sorry. I'll come at once. I only meant to come in here for a few minutes after breakfast and I'm afraid I got a little carried away …"

"Well – all right then," said Mrs Weasley, not looking at all mollified.

"It was my fault, Mrs Weasley," said Harry. "I needed to talk to him about something that happened – er – last night."  At this, Mrs Weasley looked even less happy. "No, no Harry – there's no need for that," said Mr Weasley. "Molly knows quite well that even if you hadn't come in..." "I still would have had to drag him out of here!" she snapped.  "I tend to lose track of time, you see …" "We've all of us precious little time to _play_ these days, Arthur." Mrs Weasley's voice was weary, but resigned. "You're quite right my dear. I'm all yours for the rest of the day, I promise."

The three of them left the shed and began making their way across the lawn. Fleur could be seen sitting on the ground, leaning against the old stone outhouse where the Weasleys stored their brooms, her perfect hair in unusual disarray. She was flapping at her pink face with what looked like a Chudley Cannons tea towel. Harry wouldn't have missed it for the world, and could only wish that the others were here to share the sight with him.

"Harry, you dreadful boy. Before we go in, I need _several_ words with you. I'm very glad you got back safely last night but – oh! – if I'd known you weren't here … it doesn't bear thinking about." Mrs Weasley stopped walking, forcing Harry and Mr Weasley to halt as well.

"But Mrs Weasley I had to go – Neville and Luna were relying on me. And it was OK – I had my Invisibility Cloak."

"For heaven's sake – you children will take any sort of risk as long as you've got that blessed cloak!"

Harry remembered his broken nose at the beginning of the previous year and said defensively, "We're not _children_. I know you worry, Mrs Weasley but … you can't keep us from danger. We're going soon and then you're just going to have to trust us..."

At this, Mrs Weasley sank down onto the grass. She appeared to be almost distraught. Harry could see that the skin around her mouth and eyes was white under the purple flush of her hot cheeks. He and Mr Weasley exchanged glances, and Harry sat down cross-legged on the lawn. Mr Weasley stooped awkwardly, placing an arm around his wife's shoulders. She clutched his hand convulsively. " Oh, my goodness. I wish you and Ron would reconsider leaving directly after the wedding. And taking Hermione too! It's not even proper – and into such danger!"

"We're not _taking_ her, Mrs Weasley. If anything it's the other way round."

Mrs Weasley's shoulders sagged a little. "The girl's got her head screwed on, I'll give you that. Very handy with her charm work. At least I know you won't get lost – or catch cold."

"Well, we won't run out of scarves and hats anyway."

Mrs Weasley smiled weakly. "And at – at least I know Ginny will be out of harm's way, s – safe at s – school."

Harry frowned. He had considerable doubts about the safety of Hogwarts with Dumbledore gone. But what could he do? He hated to think of Ginny – restless and alone – in the long months ahead. As though he could sense Harry's unease, Mr Weasley said in a firm and cheerful tone: "Molly, knowing our daughter, I think it highly unlikely she will be content to do nothing, studying peacefully while her entire family are out fighting. I'm sure she has plans to keep herself fully occupied while at school, even if she hasn't shared them with anyone yet."

Mrs Weasley was not comforted, indeed this seemed to increase her fear. "Oh no! I never thought … Arthur – you're right. You've forbidden her to – to follow you I hope – Harry?"

"Forbidden her – do we know the same Ginny?" Harry strove to sound light and relaxed. Mrs Weasley gave another tiny smile, though worry lines still etched her forehead.

"We've discussed it – kind of." Harry frowned again as he remembered the stilted, awkward conversation he'd had with Ginny before she left to go and see Percy. She'd seemed – cold almost – with a tight, controlled edge to her voice. The habitual blaze in her eyes when she looked at him had dulled to a small flicker since the day of the funeral. "She said she wouldn't run away and _what did I take her for_? She got angry – she's not a kid either, Mrs Weasley."

Harry smiled, remembering the flash of the real Ginny that had emerged momentarily, only to disappear again. He'd ached to take her in his arms, but she'd looked at him with the same ferocious expression as when she'd boarded the train after the funeral, and turned away. He knew she was right – they understood each other perfectly, even now – and had turned away too.

"I expect she'll be helping to mobilise troops up at the school, along with your other fighters from – what was the name, Harry?"

"Dumbledore's Army. Yeah – she'll keep them up to the mark, Mr Weasley – the few that are left anyway." He found this thought strangely comforting.

Mrs Weasley swung round, throwing her apron up to her face. "Oh, I can't bear it!" However, she didn't give in to tears and soon rallied. Rubbing fiercely at her dry eyes, she said: "I'm so proud of you – all of you. I do trust you, Harry. And my Ron's a good boy."

"I'll watch out for him Mrs Weasley, I promise – I won't let him …"

Mrs Weasley interrupted him. "No, Harry. Ron and Hermione will look out for you. That's their job. And Ginny – we'll keep her safe – for you. That's ours." She gave Harry a hard look which reminded him, strikingly, of Ginny. Astonished, he nodded. "Come, Arthur, let's go and look at this dratted tent thing. Harry – lunch in half an hour. Wash your hands first please, they're covered in ink – completely filthy."

Harry walked slowly back up to the house and into the living room to look for a quill and piece of parchment. Ron and Hermione were still sitting at the table, absorbed by the map, bent heads almost touching. It seemed they'd managed to make do with Hermione's slide rule after all. Harry watched them for a moment, and felt calmer and happier than he had done in some time. Whatever else happened: he, Ron and Hermione had work to do and nothing was going to distract them from that.

The End


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